That's Just Life
by Random in Tandem
Summary: This will be a series of little Destiel fics that may or may not actually have a cohesive story. Until then, just treat it like a series of "Slice of Life" type deals. - Cas comes back from Purgatory, and Sam and Dean's lives are turned upside down as a result. But that's nothing new for the Winchester boys. That's just life. Rated T for what may eventually happen.
1. Everything's Alright Again

**Everything's Alright Again...**

Dean sinks gingerly onto a cheap motel bed after an especially exhausting hunt, not even bothering to turn off the light. He's pretty sure that he would wake up tomorrow with several nasty bruises on his shoulders and legs, judging by the way they throbbed. Sammy had come out of the fight in better shape: that meant _he_ had to go and get the food and painkillers, after dropping Dean off at the motel so he could have a head-start on resting his tired body. Dean contemplates taking a hot shower, tries to imagine how good it would feel on his poor aching limbs, but the bed is so soft, and his eyes so heavy. Maybe he could sneak a cat nap before Sam returns.

"Dean."

His eyes immediately shoot open. That hadn't been Sam's voice. Dean scrambles to his feet, despite his muscles screaming "no, no, nope" at him, and assumes a fighting stance, having produced a knife from God-knows-where. The knife instantly falls from his hand onto the carpeted floor when his brain registers the face of his intruder. Cas. Castiel. Here in the room, waiting for a response to his presence. Yeah, sure, he should've at least attempted to be suspicious - he's a seasoned hunter, and he knows that monsters love to play their tricks - but screw caution: it's really Cas. He can _feel_ Cas' angelic presence electrifying every molecule in the room. It's him. Dean wants so badly to believe that, to be certain that he isn't still in bed, dreaming.

"Cas, you're-"

He's overcome with an urge to feel Cas - not just his electric presence, but solid and real and living - with his own two hands. Dean chokes on his rising emotion, has to swallow it down for just a moment so he can speak properly. "You're alive." Shaky laughter rattles in his chest as the word passes his lips, and, unable to restrain himself any longer, he bounds forward in three insistent strides to throw his arms over Cas' shoulders, wrapping himself tightly around the angel as if afraid that he would vanish from reality.

Things were different than before, when Dean had hugged him for the first time in Purgatory; Castiel had been trying to protect Dean then, had been trying to distance himself from him, and so had restrained himself from physically returning the sentiment - though he'd hoped that Dean could feel his angel grace reaching out in the same way Dean reached out to him. But this time, Dean is safe from Leviathan, neither of them are in any immediate danger. _They are alive_. Castiel presses into Dean's torso, his arms constrictive against Dean's waist, his hands clinging desperately to Dean's back. Dean, Dean, Dean; Everything is Dean, and nothing hurts.

It is not enough. Dean is crushing him, burying his head into the crook of his neck, murmuring "I'm sorry, I'm sorry you were left behind" and "I missed you so much" with such brokenness tinging his voice that Castiel can feel his own heart breaking for him. Metaphorically speaking, of course. But it isn't enough. So Castiel calls upon his grace, and with the power of Heaven he embraces Dean's very soul, soothing it, filling it with peace and joy. Dean - metaphorically, again - melts in Cas' touch. He chuckles pleasantly and retorts: "You're using your angel mojo on me, aren't you?"

"You aren't resisting."

"No. I guess I'm not." It feels good, Dean has to admit - like taking a warm bath, or eating a proper meal after weeks of cheap fast food. A full minute passes before either of them are willing to pull back from the hug, though they don't let go of each other just yet. Cas scrunches his hands into the fabric of Dean's coat, and Dean finds that he can't stop touching Cas, little touches such as patting his shoulders or gripping his arms or playing with the folds of that damn trenchcoat. And they simply look at each other.

"How did you get out?"

"... I would prefer not to answer that. Not right now. I- don't remember much about what happened after you left." Cas' voice is unsuccessfully indifferent; Dean can hear the strain under the facade. Takes one to know one. Still, he nods, indulging Cas in this little white lie: not right now.

"Right. Oh God, Cas- I would have- I would have looked for you. Dammit, if I'd known you were still stuck there, I-"

"I know, Dean."

"I _didn't_ know. Benny told me-"

"Dean." Castiel moves his hands to Dean's face, grasping either side of his head in a firm hold, to keep his attention on the present. Steady blue eyes invade emotion-filled green ones. "Don't." They're so close together, so close. Castiel reacts as if pulled by an invisible force, slowly inching even closer, and those green eyes flash with a new emotion.

Panic.

Dean jerks backwards, wriggles free from Cas' hold on him. "What the hell're you doing?!" he exclaims, and Cas' heart breaks for the second time - but he isn't convinced that it's a metaphorical emotion anymore, because it physically hurts. It burns in his chest, real pain. He hates this human emotion. He hates all human emotions; they are overwhelming and cause conflict and doubt and hurt, even when it is supposed to be love. _Especially_ when it is love. Castiel feels the emotion Anger bubble up from the burning in his chest. He hasn't endured all this physical pain for Dean, just to be hindered by emotional pain. He snatches Dean's shirt and yanks the man back to him, capturing him once again in his raw glare.

"I am expressing how glad I am to see you alive and well, after all this time. I thought it was customary to accept such sentiments with gratitude?" Castiel seethes. And then he turns them both to the left and shoves Dean into the wall.

"Cas, I'm not- I can't."

Dean can't do it, he just can't. The feelings that arise when he looks at Cas for the first time in months, the truth that claws at the back of Dean's mind, longing to be acknowledged, demanding to be expressed... He can't. It's too much. He's never wanted it exposed like this. But there's that angel mojo again, working its magic on him. Cas is trying to coax it out of him himself, the bastard. He doesn't realize that it's already mostly there, held back by a membrane of denial. Cas holds his white-knuckled grip on Dean's shirt, bringing his other hand to the back of Dean's head to seize his hair. They're both breathing heavily now, not for lack of oxygen but for the spike in their heartbeats.

"I don't believe you."

He doesn't know from what part of himself these desires sprang, doesn't know if Dean will reciprocate - or if the sinful man is _capable_ of reciprocating, though he has faith in 'yes' - doesn't know how things will change between them if he takes what he wants. So many things he doesn't know, but for all he doesn't know, he is certain of one thing, maybe two:

**1.** He wants to kiss Dean, right then and there, and the consequences can be dealt with later. Nothing is more important to him in that moment than the taste of Dean's lips and the feel of Dean relaxing into him. The second part, while not necessary, is still important to Castiel because:  
**2?** He has some degree of confidence that Dean wants this equally as much as himself. If the expression on Dean's face is really what he assumes it is, Dean wants this too.

Castiel continues staring into Dean's eyes even as he presses their foreheads together, seeking ironclad verification: a twitch of the mouth, an enlarging of the pupils, a quirk of the eyebrows, anything. The Anger in his own eyes has dissolved into Need, pure and undeniable; he is sure Dean recognizes it. He sees the instant Denial bursts and Want floods Dean's every thought. Unexpectedly, Dean cranes his head until their noses touch and slide together- here he falters. The last of Uncertainty hitches in his throat. Sensing it, Castiel reaches to eliminate it with his grace, then, victorious, he closes the remaining distance.

Cas' lips are really as chapped as they look; they feel rough and scratchy against his own. The angel probably doesn't even recognize the discomfort in having dry lips - it's the same deal with him never needing food, or a bathroom. Dean drags a slicked tongue across them to soften them up, for his own sake. Apparently Cas likes that because he immediately imitates the action on Dean. _Always following directions_, Dean jokes to himself. The scruff on Cas' face isn't as unpleasant as he thought it would be, since Dean has his own five-o'clock shadow to counteract it, but it's still just rough enough that Dean'll have red marks on his face tomorrow. He's suddenly aware that his hands are hanging uselessly at his side; so he places them on Cas' waist and clings for dear life. The hand in his hair clenches tighter, pulling on it near-painfully, though in just a way that sends kinky thoughts vibrating right down Dean's vertebrae. Cas tilts his head and does everything he can to press closer, his eyes boring into Dean's with an intensity that Dean swears will cause his own to burst into flames. Except that's already happening to his soul. Cas' grace pulses Desire, penetrating and fierce; he can feel his soul ache in response to it, opening itself freely to invite in the will of the angel. If the hug had been a warm bath, then _holy hell_, this is a boiling stew made of Tickles and Sunshine.

He can't stand it any longer and closes his eyes, humming happily into Cas' mouth. His hands roam Cas' back like explorers of a New World. It's only when he begins to feel excessively dizzy that he realizes he hasn't breathed in an alarmingly long time. Dean breaks the kiss after a good long while and inhales sharply, his lungs starved for air. When he opens his eyes in a flutter, Cas is still watching him. He silently notes how that, coupled with the forceful fingers twisted in his hair, press all the right buttons for him.

"Damn," he breathes.

Castiel ignores the itching sensation caused by Dean's stubble. It is a minor inconvenience in comparison to everything else coursing through him. Impatiently, he licks his lips and attacks Dean's mouth again, the hand on Dean's shirt sliding up to rest on his cheek, his thumb lovingly caressing the skin under Dean's eye, where the cheekbone begins. Dean clings greedily to him now, there is no longer any need to keep him in place. Castiel observes Dean's eyes slide shut again; he tries it himself, but he doesn't like being unable to see Dean's reactions to his touch. He doesn't want to leave any part of this to his imagination, which is unreliable at best anyway.

A surprised gasp escapes Cas' lips when Dean flips their positions and presses the angel's back flush against the wall, both his hands running possessively over Cas' waist and chest, while keeping their mouths firmly locked together. Dean is accustomed to being the one in charge, so Cas lets him, for now. He stops yanking on Dean's hair to grip the man's shoulders, working his grace into every muscle and healing their aches. The kiss dissipates into little nibbles and tender pecks; when Cas finally decides to pull away, he keeps their foreheads pressed together as they had been at the start, and they pant into one another as if the other's breath is the breath of Life, drinking it in, letting it seep into the spots where it's most needed. Cas' grace creates glorious friction inside of Dean, holding him at the precipice of satiated and overwhelmed. Dean opens his eyes and is blind to everything but Cas. The angel more than fills his vision, he fills a hole in Dean's heart which Dean had been trying to convince himself didn't exist. And you know what? That's fine by him, because Cas is all he wants to see from now to the end of forever. He's on frickin' Cloud Nine and has no plans of coming down any time soon.

Sam chooses _that exact second_ to waltz into the motel room in his usual noisy, moose-like manner, permanently earning a spot (the only spot) on Dean's "people I'm going to murder before I die of embarrassment" list. But lucky Sam gets away easy with a missing angel and a defensive brother, and a few threats of violence from said brother before that brother hides in the bathroom. Sam just gives the shut door one of his patented 'You're an idiot' looks and laughs softly.


	2. And Then It's Not

**... And Then It's Not**

"I still can't believe Cas is back from Purgatory." Sam exclaims. He hasn't said a word about the scene he walked in on last night, but that talk has to happen eventually, and they both know it. Dean frowns at his breakfast and mumbles "Yeah, me neither" obligatorily.

"I'm kinda miffed that he didn't even say 'hi' to me before bailing, but I'd be embarrassed too if-"

"Shut up." Dean snaps. He could practically hear the smirk in Sam's voice. He stabs his eggs to parallel just how much he wants to stab Sam right now, hoping Sam gets the symbolism. A diner breakfast is not enough of a bribe to make Dean want to talk about last night. Not to anyone, and especially not to his brother. Cas' grace-given dopamine high that Dean's been feeding with alcohol has long since crashed, leaving in its wake one sour, crotchety, confused Dean Winchester. But Sammy isn't gonna let it drop; the resolution in his face is all too familiar. Dean sighs and his fork clatters onto the plate over-dramatically, earning an equally dramatic eye-roll from Sam.

"What the hell d'you want me to say, huh? You saw what you saw. You can put two-and-two together."

Sam draws his eyebrows in and quirks them upward, the universal symbol for 'not buying your bullshit'. "Yeah, but it'd be nice to hear you fess up for once." When Dean responds by purposefully shoving a forkful of pancakes into his mouth, Sam flashes him the Winchester Bitchface. "Dude, c'mon, you can't keep this crap bottled up. You _know_ what happens. I'm not gonna stop asking 'til you tell me."

"You want the truth, fine: we kissed, okay?" Dean blurts out - making sure no one else was close enough to hear - because there's really no better way to say it than to just come right out with it. Rip the bandaid off fast and painless. Plus, he kinda enjoys Sam's stunned expression for the few seconds it lasts, before it's replaced by a failed attempt at a poker face. Dean can't help himself: "What's the matter, Sammy? Diner food make you constipated?" Sam's unwillingness to play along turns the joke stale in the air between them. His cheeky grin deflates.

"I didn't think you'd actually- Wow, okay. So, you kissed." Sam echoes in slight disbelief, and hearing it in someone else's voice suddenly brings it into reality, as if he hadn't been thinking about it in terms of him and Cas until now. "_Yes_, we kissed." _They kissed._ "He poofed into the room like he friggin' owned the place, like Purgatory had been just a- a bad vacation. Then we-" _Cas kissed him_. "Then, he kissed me." _Dean Winchester and Castiel Angel-of-the-Lord had made out like it was prom night. Huh._

Sam struggles to find words to say after that. What is he supposed to say? How is he even supposed to respond to Dean telling him that he locked lips with an _angel_- in a _man's body_? Analyzing Dean's scowl brings him to ask the question that he knows is on his brother's mind: "Did you... like it?" Dean's eyebrows draw in and his nose crinkles in revulsion. "No! I mean, it wasn't- No! The hell is wrong with you? I don't even want to be _talking_ about this." He hates the amusement in Sam's apologetic smile. "It's not like that! He went all gung-ho on me, and it just _happened_. How do you say 'no' to an angel?"

"'No' is a pretty good start."

"You know what? _Screw you_."

Sam draws in a deep breath and tried not to laugh outright - doing that had gone badly for him yesterday. Dean is at the point where he's finally realizing something about his feelings- or he would be, if he wasn't such a hardass when it came to emotional problems. Sam wants him to acknowledge whatever this is. He does. It would be the healthiest thing Dean's ever done. But he also knows that Dean has a true talent for burying his emotions under booze and work. Still, it can't hurt to try. "So you... _didn't_ like it?"

He'd liked it a little bit. No, no! He's Dean Winchester, ladies' man, dammit! '_Cas is a dude. His vessel is a dude. Oh God, Jimmy.'_ Was Jimmy still in there? It seems unlikely after everything Cas has put that body through, but the thought still makes Dean sick to his stomach. '_And Cas is an angel! Angels don't- do they?'_ If not, Cas is certainly an exception. Cas had been aggressive, yet gentle: aggressively gentle? Is that a real thing? It must be, because that's the only way Dean can think to describe it. Aggressively gentle had turned him on, just a little. '_What the hell is happening to me?'_

Dean must've had this conflict plastered all over his face: Sam is gaping at him. "You _did_ like it."

That's enough of that. Dean pulls his wallet out, throws a twenty on the table to pay for breakfast, and stands up. "We're done. Let's go." he commands. Sam looks up at him challengingly and makes no motion to follow. "Oh, I'm _sorry_: take your time, princess. I'll wait in the car." Dean does just that, ignoring whatever his brother is about to say in favor of escaping to the impala. He eases into the driver's side with a groan, slams the door shut with more force than is necessary. Massages his entire face with both hands. '_Why is Cas doing this to me?'_ is one of the dozens of questions that's running marathons in his skull right now.

Sam continues eating his breakfast, and takes some of the leftovers from Dean's plate - shame on him for wasting food. A small part of him wants to believe that he'd totally seen this coming: Cas always seemed to like Dean just a bit more. Well, he talked to Dean more, stood just a bit closer to him, and stared at him more often and for uncomfortably long periods of time. Plus, Dean hasn't been big on the one-night-stands since he got back from Purgatory, and Sam thought that after an entire year, he'd be all over his favorite pastime. That's what happened when Dean got back from Hell. Maybe this time, Cas happened instead. Then again, his disinterest could also be taken as a sign that he's finally matured somewhat. Or changed. Dean has definitely changed.

Sam snaps out of this particular line of thought when the morning news, playing on the small TV behind the counter, catches his attention: a high school senior found dead in his room, ruled a suicide. His name was Raul Alvarez. _Wait_. Narcissistic rich boy Raul, the sometimes-boyfriend of the girl who'd been killed by that Crocotta. The Crocotta he and Dean had taken care of only yesterday. Sam gets the feeling they've missed something huge here. He's out of his seat in a flash, rushing to inform Dean that maybe they didn't do their job as well as they thought.

|\/|\/|

Castiel steps forward on the pavement in front of the diner, sliding into visibility - which goes unnoticed by the inattentive human passersby. He stares at the parking spot where the impala had rested not a minute earlier. '_I'm sorry'_, he wants to say, knowing it would be pointless because the intended recipient is absent. He whispers it anyway and then vanishes into the sky in a swift flurry of wings.

\/=/\=\/=/\=\/=/\=\/=/\=\/=/\=\/=/\=\/=/\=\/

**A note thing:** Welp, this chappie is much shorter than the last, but hey, I'm letting them start and end wherever they feel natural. And look- _actual plot_! I was surprised too, believe me. I'm really liking this slice-of-life style because it allows me a certain freedom to explore how characters would think and speak. It might be difficult to read at first, since I'm blending the narratorial styles of whatever characters are present in the scene, but I have faith that you'll get used to it! Okay, so I'll sign off here before the note thing gets longer than the actual fic. _Lemme know what you think so far!_


	3. The Obligatory Flashback

**The Obligatory Flashback**  
~Via prayers from Dean Winchester~

Castiel flexes his wings for the first time in over a year - truly flexes them. Their presence had never completely faded from his grasp, but the weight of the Leviathan kept him grounded in that time, and miserable for it. Dean told him once that some things were like learning to ride a bicycle: Castiel assumed he'd been trying to tell him that once you know a skill, you don't ever really forget. It's only pushed into the back of your mind until you need it again. He now has a fairly accurate basis of comparison for that particular saying. He takes deep, steady breaths with Jimmy's lungs, feels his own grace thrumming within his vessel. It's weak at the moment, his grace, but it will grow stronger with time and rest.

Then the nausea overtakes him. Castiel seizes and clutches at his head instinctively, hissing in pain. He focuses on quieting the voice that echoes loudly and incoherently within his mind. It is only one voice, yet it speaks with the intensity of a thousand. One single voice, saying a mess of words that he can't understand. '_Think, concentrate.'_ The words certainly aren't Enochian. '_English_.' The soul, it feels familiar.

"Dean."

As the name tumbles from his lips, dozens of memories play in his mind at once. Every memory is a different prayer. A thousand voices - a thousand prayers, all from Dean Winchester. Dean is praying to him_ right now_. Elated, Castiel sends away the memories of past prayers to better hear this current one:

"Cas?"

Dean sounds exhausted, like he's hanging onto his last thread of hope. Castiel allows his eyes to fall shut; he imagines Dean standing in front of him, his head tilted up towards the ceiling of the motel room, sad eyes narrowed and jaw set in a permanent frown.

"Cas, I wanna believe that you're still alive, that you MacGyver'd your way out of Purgatory somehow. Sam thinks you did. And if anyone could, it's you."

He pauses to glance over at Sam, who is asleep on the other bed. When Dean speaks again, his voice has dropped to a whisper.

"You can't be dead, because how am I supposed to- to live with myself if you are? I _promised_ to get you out of there. I _swore_ that it would be all or none. So... don't be dead, Cas. Don't you dare be dead."

The mirage of Dean and the motel fades away, replaced by reality: a narrow dirt road stretching across miles and miles of farmland, illuminated only by a waxing moon that hangs high in the sky. Castiel wants nothing more than to go to Dean, show him that he is okay. But his grace has been damaged far too much; he isn't even sure if it's _safe_ for him to fly, be it a mile or a thousand miles. For now, he must wait.

Dean doesn't pray for another two weeks; in that time, Castiel has regained his ability to fly, along with a few more of his vital angelic functions. It should not have taken so long to recover under normal conditions, but he is not operating under normal conditions: he's cut off from Heaven completely. He'd been forced to ignore the feeling of unfulfillment in Purgatory, because he wouldn't have survived long had he not worked past that weakness. It was when he walked the Earth once again, after a year of being disconnected, that he realized the possibility of his situation being more _permanent_ than he initially anticipated. And even if he wanted to test this theory, it's a bad idea to simply fly into Heaven - not after everything he did. Even if he wanted to face his brethren, Heaven wouldn't take him back. Of that he is certain.

The next prayer comes in the form of a status report, and Castiel is only too happy to have a distraction. Meditation provides little in the way of entertainment when it's the only activity on one's agenda.

"Cas."

Dean's voice sounds more hesitant this time, as opposed to the desperation in his last prayer.

"I- I feel like an idiot, praying to you when I don't even know if you're... _alive_, but- I dunno."

Dean is alone in the new motel room, Castiel can ascertain, though Sam's presence is nearby: he must be in the bathroom. It is confirmed when Dean glances over at the bathroom door as if watching for Sam to come out.

"Caught a case in Evart, Michigan. We think it's a crocotta- well, Sam figures it's a crocotta, and I agree." He chuckles hollowly. "Damn, haven't hunted one of these in years. Way before I met you, even. The big showdown'll probably go down tonight. We just have to find its hideout."

Dean's attention is caught by sounds of movement from the bathroom. He rushes to finish his prayer:

"That's my cue to sign off, so... Amen?"

For the first time since he's returned, Castiel smiles. It's nothing more than a twitch of the lips and a warm feeling in his grace, but it's enough.

That very night brings another prayer, but a concerning one. Now that Castiel knows where Dean and Sam are - which he suspects had been intentional - it's that much harder for him to not go immediately to them. It becomes near impossible upon receiving this new prayer. Ah yes, this prayer is different than the others because it isn't spoken aloud. Dean sits in the passenger's seat of his beloved impala, cradling his right arm, his movements stiff, his soul emanating distress. It fills Castiel with unease and a strong urge to fly to him. Two weeks of wandering farmland and meditating in abandoned barns has made him lonely, restless, and eager to rejoin the good fight.

Dean's jumbled rambling at last reaches him, though quieter than Castiel is used to.

_'Hey there, Cas. Good news. The crocotta is dead. Get this: girl named Christina had a secret admirer who sent her lovey dovey crap online. Her boyfriend Raul - who's a real douchebag, if you ask me - didn't like that too much, so he goes on her Facebook page or whatever the hell it's called, not that you know what that is, I guess- anyway, he finds out that she's gonna meet the mystery lover boy. We followed the same lead, but he beat us to the punch. Of course her secret admirer turns out to be a freakin' monster. Didn't get there in time to save the girl, but Raul walked out alive. He's a spoiled punk, but at least he ain't dead, I guess.'_

Guilt joined the Stress and the physical pain- more fuel to the white hot intensity of self hatred burning in Dean's core. Dean blamed himself for the woman's death, though it seemed unlikely that he could have done anything to prevent it. It felt unbearable as a second-hand sensation; Castiel wondered with mild horror how Dean could stand to harbor it within himself constantly.

_'But that son of a bitch managed to get a few potshots in before we ganked him: threw me around the room like a damn rag doll. Almost tore my arm off, the bastard. I'm gonna feel _great_ tomorrow. Sam's in better shape than I am, thank God for that. Heading back to the hotel. Place called O'Malley's. God, I really need some pie right about now. And alcohol, lots of alcohol. And sleep. Definitely sleep. First thing I'm gonna do when I get to the hotel is take a nice long shower, while I can still feel my arms and legs. Then I'm gonna drink myself unconscious.'_

Sam speaks to Dean, muffled words that Castiel can't make out.

_'Back at the hotel now, so... that's it. Keep kickin', wherever you are.'_

Castiel can no longer remain in hiding. Dean is _hurt_, physically and emotionally, and he was going to bury it in a dark corner of his mind as he did with his other moments of emotional trauma. Castiel won't allow this to happen. He won't let Dean destroy himself again and again over things that he can't control. He is through with waiting until his strength returns. He may not be as powerful as he once was, but he can help with what power he does have. He can still be useful.

This thought carries him to the Connor O'Malley's Irish Pub and Restaurant. He circles the building one time in a single blink, and once he's located where Dean's soul resides, he's in the room without a second thought. And Dean is there, sprawled haphazardly on one of the beds. He looks almost unconscious. Fearing this to be the case, Castiel feels the beginnings of Panic leap in his stomach. He has to make sure that Dean is okay.

"Dean." Castiel calls, hoping that his voice doesn't betray Anxiety.

Startled, the man scrambles out of bed and whips out a knife. _Oh_. Castiel considers too late that his sudden appearance would further distress Dean: he reaches out to Dean with his grace, soothing his soul by showing it that he is a familiar presence. It drains him immensely, but Dean drops his knife and looks on him with an expression that makes it all worth it.

"Cas, you're..."

Castiel feels- well, he feels many things, but the strongest feeling is Safe. He is pulled into a tight hug, clinging and intimate, Safe enveloping them both so greatly that a hug just isn't enough for him. It's not enough. Castiel grips Dean's soul and pulls it closer to his grace, so close as to be almost touching, but_ it isn't enough_. He presses Dean into the wall, cradling his face, annoyed that Dean is resisting him when he can feel Desire boiling underneath his Hesitation. Castiel _feels_ all this and blindly obeys his feelings in the heat of the moment, winning two passioned kisses and - had Sam not entered the room right then - he might have begun to ravage that wicked soul with the fire in his grace.

"Cas?"

His eyes widen (like a deer caught in the headlights, Dean would later tell him) as his eyes shift their focus from Dean's face to the speechless Sam Winchester standing at the threshold behind him. Dean rips himself away from Castiel, but that isn't necessary because he's already fled the room, flying in one general direction until he calms down enough to land. He instantly regrets leaving Dean behind and almost returns, but that option disappears when another bout of severe nausea, a kind of nausea not associated with prayer, causes him to stagger forward, reaching for the support of the nearest wall. Everything churns and swirls so unpleasantly. It's his grace: he somehow managed to deplete his entire reserve of energy in a single night. Castiel's eyes snap closed, and he falls to the ground unconscious in an alleyway in Tuskegee, Alabama.


	4. Let's Try This Again

**Let's Try This Again**

Dean is... different, somehow. He's been acting strange ever since the whole thing with Cas, sure, but Sam first noticed the change long before that: in fact, pretty much the day Dean came back from Purgatory. He doesn't want to be right about this. He doesn't want to even think about the many twisted things Dean might've done in Purgatory to get out, doesn't want to believe that this is Dean Back From Hell all over again, or Sam Back From Hell, or God forbid, Sam Back From Hell 2. Damaged Dean. _Dangerous Dean. _As much as Sam wants it to not be true, he can't ignore the doubt rising in the back of his mind.

But that's not the issue right now. They've examined the crime scene and all the evidence points to a crocotta attack, though it's a lot more sloppy than the last two. This case would be open-and-shut if the main suspect wasn't currently decomposing in a ditch two miles from the town limit. He is. They'd checked.

"You think there might be two crocottas in town?"

Dean huffs and takes another swig of motel coffee. "It's the only thing that makes sense. But I thought crocottas usually hunted solo; more food for themselves, that kinda thing, y'know? What made these two decide to start playing house?"

"Maybe they were mates."

"Mates. Great, 'cause that's _just _what we need: two monsters making baby monsters together." Dean crinkled his nose in disgust. "Is that even possible?"

"For crocottas? I have no idea. But what I do know is that Raul was there when we killled the crocotta last night, and a few hours later a different one kills him. If it wants revenge, we gotta assume that we're next on the hit list."

"Well," Dean rises from the cheap armchair and migrates to the duffel bag containing a small portion of their armory. A smirk spreads across his face and Sam catches a glimpse of something in his eyes, something that isn't 100% Dean. Something far more primal. His stomach sinks. "Let's make sure we're ready for the bastard."

Sam swallows down his concern, trying to keep it from showing on his face. His fingers gravitate toward a familiar patch of skin on the palm of his hand. He knows that his brother can't help but feel responsible for this unexpected death; Raul may have been a dick, but he was also just a kid, with an entire life ahead of him. Now he's dead, because they missed something. But if Dean is feeling even a little broken up about it, he's hiding it alarmingly well. Purgatory _changed _Dean. It's made him a better killer, a more secretive and mistrustful person, and if Sam wants to be totally honest with himself - which he doesn't - Dean may or may not be cracking under the pressure of all that overwhelming guilt. It's the kind of guilt that no one should ever have to shoulder alone, and if he wasn't so damn stubborn about keeping things to himself, he wouldn't have to.

When Sam can't stand the tension in the room anymore, he goes out to get a soda from the vending machine. Once there he takes a quick glance around, then bows his head and closes his eyes the second he knows he's alone.

"Cas? Castiel?"

The angel is startled from unconsciousness when the prayer rings in his mind. He hadn't expected to hear Sam. He doesn't expect to hear from Dean either, though he can't deny that he hopes to.

_'I know- I know that I'm probably the last person you wanna be hearing from, but... I need your help. It's Dean. He's- not exactly himself lately, and honestly? He's kinda scaring me.'_

Sam lets out a ragged breath, then another, then a sharp exhale of finality. It occurs to Castiel that the issue must be more serious than Sam cares to admit, primarily because he's asking for external assistance without Dean's knowledge.

_'Look, whatever you and Dean have got going on between you is none of my business. You don't have to tell me if you don't want to. But whatever it is, I'm fine with it. Just- watch over him. Make sure he's okay. Please. And stop him from doing anything he might regret.'_

With a suppressed groan, Castiel props himself against the alley wall in - where was he again? - Tuskegee. Tuskegee, Alabama. Right. He isn't sure how long he's been unconscious; he manages well enough when in the presence of humans, but the concept of time has no meaning to him otherwise. Castiel vaguely recalls having a dream while unconscious- both somewhat strange experiences for an angel. In the dream, he'd flown back to Evart to watch over Sam and Dean; the only part still clear in his mind is the sight of the Impala driving away from the parking lot of a local diner. He'll ask Dean about dreams at a later time.

He's still disoriented from flying. Doing so sapped him of nearly all of the precious energy which he had worked so hard to accumulate in those weeks after his return. His entire body is shaking. He isn't cold- he doesn't get cold. He just feels empty. Not emotionally, _physically_, as if he's about to collapse under his own weight. Still, he can't remain in that alley for much longer. He has to find his way back to the Winchesters.

Castiel tries stretching his wings, but they feel so heavy that he can't get them to unfold completely before they sag against his back once more. Flying is out of the question. A bus, then. He's taken one before, he only needs to acquire enough money for the cross-country trip. _Or... _He looks to the sky.

|\/|

As soon as Sam notices the missing car, he flips open his cell. How could he have been so stupid? And how the hell did he not instantly recognize the rumble of the Impala as it drove away? One new voicemail.

"Hey Sam. I found out where the crocotta is, and you took too long. Meet me at 8910 Oak Road."

"_Dammit_, Dean."

|\/|

Dean chuckles.

"You know, he'll never believe you," he calls out to the crocotta in the other room, and though he's done it about a thousand times already, he strains against the rope that renders him immobile. "He's too smart for that. He'll know it's a trap."

The crocotta enters the room again, grasping a kitchen knife and eyeing Dean like a dog eyeing a juicy steak.

"Maybe you're right. But it doesn't matter: he'll come anyway, because you're his brother."

Dean gives her a hardened glare. "So, what is it, huh? You're gonna eat our souls 'cause we killed the Clyde to your Bonnie? Then what? Is that gonna make you feel better, because lemme tell you right now:_ it won't."_

"Don't try to play with my head like that, you son of a bitch!" she yells, thrusting the knife wildly in his direction. Streaks of dried tears stain her face. "You killed the love of my life, and now I'm gonna make you _suffer for it!"_

"Oh, don't start with the Bad Guy Monologue. You hardly even knew the guy!" he snaps back. "You met him on the internet, for Christ's sake- and _look what he did to you!_ He turned to into a friggin' _monster!"_ He takes a breath, to calm himself down. _Steady, Dean, slow your roll. _Despite having an advantage over him, the crocotta looks at him with fear, the hand holding the knife trembling noticeably.

"All I'm saying is that you still have a choice. You've already killed one person, Christine. You really wanna raise the body count?"

Wide eyes stare at him. Eventually, she lowers the knife. Dean's already cut through most of the rope with the blade he'd hidden in his belt. Just a bit more to go and-

Sam comes storming into the living room from the kitchen door, shotgun raised and aimed at Christine. He barely has time to register the fact that she isn't dead before she flings him soundly across the room. Dean jumps out of the chair and swipes at her with his blade, cleanly slicing the back of her arm; she drops her knife in surprise. _Of course _that only enrages her. She whirls around to attack Dean, but is instead met with a hand that presses against her forehead and suddenly everything is a burning white light so hot and so painful, she can't even recognize the sound of her own scream as her corrupted soul is vaporized from her body.

"I apologize for my tardiness," Castiel says to Dean, with some degree of weariness. "There was excessive traffic in Indiana."

Dean gazes back at him, momentarily stunned. The peach fuzz is gone, and the hospital attire has been replaced by Jimmy's old suit. Cas looks just as he did before... everything. Kinda overwhelming to think about how much has happened in the four years that they've known each other, how many times Cas has changed for him- _because _of him. Now it's like it was at the very start of their relationship, only with the weight of all the shit they've gone through causing the angel's shoulders to sag. After a few seconds, Dean finally remembers to respond. "No, no, that was perfect timing, Cas. Wait- what were you doing in Indiana?"

"I was coming here, from Alabama."

Dean's eyebrows quirk in confusion. "Huh. Okay... And what the hell were you doing in Alabama?"

"I flew there. Yesterday." Castiel glances over at Sam, who's pushing himself upright and stretching his sore back.

Slowly, Dean nods. "You know what? Forget it. We'll save it for later."

Sam hobbles up to them and looks at Christine's body on the floor, then up at Cas. He's never been more happy to see Castiel- and for more reasons than one. "Nice timing. Where'd you come from?"

"Alabama."

"Alabama? Huh." He wipes some drywall off his chin. "So Christine was the second crocotta? I thought the other one killed her?"

Dean nudges Christine's foot with the tip of his boot. _Just checking. _"Nope. He loved her so much that he turned her- least that's what she told me before leaving you that message. We only thought she was dead when her body was, uh, going through the changes. She said she 'woke up scared and confused in the morgue', broke out, and decided to go all Evil-Avengers on our asses."

Sam scoffs. "Wow. I kinda feel sorry for her, actually. Besides the whole 'throwing me into a wall' thing."

"Yeah, me too."

Both Sam and Cas look at him with surprise.

"What? It's just, I know where she's going." He grimaces, bitter remembrance etched into the lines on his face. "And she sure as hell ain't gonna like it there."

The three of them spare a moment of silence for her before starting the clean-up.

|\/|\/|

Castiel finds himself in the backseat of the Impala, listening to Dean mumble the words to one of his rock songs while Sam lies back and rests his eyes. For one moment, everything feels normal again; but that's before his body is wracked with a spasm he's only experienced once before in his time on Earth. He shifts uncomfortably.

"Dean," he manages to say. "I'm hungry."

Dean looks over his shoulder to frown worriedly in Cas' direction. "Hungry? Yeah, okay, we'll grab some grub at the hotel. The burgers ain't half bad."

Castiel turns his head away from them to stare out the window at the streetlights and passing cars. His hands are clenched into tense fists and his stomach twitches from pangs of starvation. Up at the front, Sam and Dean share a look.

\/=/\=\/=/\=\/=/\=\/=/\=\/=/\

OH HI THERE! So it's been two months since I updated, and I just want you to know that I haven't forgotten it, I haven't given up on it, and I sure as hell ain't gonna leave you hanging like that! This'll probably happen pretty often though, where I have long hiatuses in between parts. Honestly, I can really only write when I hit inspiration, and boy did inspiration come to me recently. I'll be uploading another part in a few days (fingers crossed). Meanwhile, I might have to change the rating on this thing from T to M (so you have something to look forward to, dontcha?)

Thanks for being so patient with me, and sorry if you have to be even more patient at any time down the line. Let's see where this thing goes!


	5. The Dreaded Talk

**The Dreaded Talk**

_Food is amazing,_ Castiel thinks to himself. He takes another bite of the O'Malley's Classic Pub Burger, chews it slowly, and considerately- not in the sense that he's minding his mannerisms due to present company, but that he wants to savor the fascinating blend of tastes which are unlike the fast food burgers he's had previously. Every bite is a new surprise, because the batch had been mixed unevenly and thus the ratio of spices is varied, not to mention the disproportion of mayonnaise, ketchup, pickle, cheese, lettuce; no burger will ever be the same, by fault of mere circumstance. This is his third burger. His favorite bite so far was the 6th of the second burger.

He smoothly ignores Dean, who is observing him with a bewildered yet amused expression. Dean and Sam are sitting across from him in the booth and have both long since finished with their meals; Dean had also chosen the Classic Pub Burger, while Sam opted for the Classic Chef's Salad. Sam focuses on his drink now as Castiel eats, occasionally looking over at Dean and then at him, before back to his glass. The waitress interrupts their meaningful conversation (Castiel is practicing sarcasm in his head, to expand his communication skills- in reality, the three of them are sitting in silence).

"Your friend sure can eat, can't he?" she converses, refilling Sam's sweet tea with the half-empty pitcher in her hand. Sam gives her a tiny "Thanks".

Dean snorts. "He could probably eat a couple hundred of 'em if he wanted to." That causes her to laugh with her entire body, and Castiel at last raises his head in Dean's direction. Dean looks as though he can't decipher the meaning in his gaze; to be fair, Castiel himself doesn't know what emotion he's currently displaying.

"Should I tell the cook to put on another burger for ya, then?"

Castiel smiles considerately at the waitress- not in the sense that he's putting careful effort into his expression (though that is partly true on account of his inexperience in social situations), but that he wishes to express gratitude for her service. "I appreciate your foresight."

"Well isn't that the most polite 'yes' I ever heard," she grins. "Same one? Okay, I'll be back with y'burger and more soda."

She bustles away. Castiel takes another bite. Oh, this one is excellent. It's too bad that humans rarely take the time to experience their food, to know it intimately. Human cuisine is such a complex art form. It's discovering the perfect blend of spices and sauces and meats and produce, mixing and matching in literally _countless_ different ways, all to create a single dish which is then replicated in millions of different varieties: a little more oregano, a bit less chicken bouillon, grilled or baked, salt-free, heavy cream instead of milk, add orange glaze, skip the gravy, serve it hot or cold or in between, have a small plate, have the whole pot. Yes, food is amazing.

Dean moves around in his seat to get comfortable for another half-hour or more. He sighs. Cas eating is definitely not a good sign: the last time this happened, Heaven had taken him off the angel juice and that'd made him practically human. "You enjoyin' that?" Dean jibes. He doesn't want to think about what's happening to Cas.

Cas nods. "Yes, the burger is wonderful."

"Oh, good. Wonderful."

Sam sets down his drink and makes like he's gonna leave. _Whoa, hold on a minute there, bucko-_ Dean's not ready to be left alone with Cas, not yet.

"Where d'you think you're going?" He hates that he sounds so obvious, but Cas either doesn't notice or is kindly and considerately not paying attention to him.

"Dude, relax, I'm just going to the bathroom." Which, of course, is Sam-code for _"Dude, I feel like a third wheel being crushed by the big, rainbow-colored elephant in the room. I gotta leave before I suffocate, and you two better talk while I'm gone or I'll lock you both in the motel for the night and let the elephant take care of itself. **And that's a promise."**_

Seeing as Dean can't argue without basically telling Sam he's right, Dean has to let him leave. _Fantastic_. This is the first time since the motel that Dean and Cas have been left alone. Dean starts drumming his knuckles on the table and humming Metallica songs.

Castiel swallows the last bite of his burger, cleans his hands with meticulous precision, sets his plate aside, and sits quietly. Waiting. He doesn't look at Dean, doesn't try to initiate conversation; everything in its own time. If Dean doesn't want to talk, he won't force him to.

Meanwhile, Dean struggles to come up with words to say. How the hell do conversations like this even begin? _"Hey, remember we made out around this time yesterday? Well I can't seem to stop thinking about it and I might like you as more than a friend, possibly. Also we are two dudes and members of different species. Just in case you didn't already know that."_ Most people don't have these problems. Most people only have to worry about how to act on first dates and finding The One and planning weddings and, at worst, fighting over cheating and fighting for gay rights. Lucky bastards.

All of a sudden a thought pops into his head and he just says it without second-guessing whether or not he should. "So, uh, Sam knows."

A wave of warm Relief washes over Castiel, and it is cleansing. "That comes as no surprise." It doesn't, since Sam mentioned it in his prayer earlier that day. But Castiel won't tell Dean about the prayer unless he feels Sam wants it to be made known.

Dean tries to laugh, but his throat is congested with Fear. Castiel senses so much of it; he hopes that, once Dean can say what he needs to, the Fear will pass. The waitress interrupts them (but this time it is not sarcasm: she is actually intruding on a conversation of sorts, only one that hasn't begun yet), setting down a new burger and refilling their drinks with a smile, and then she is gone. Castiel doesn't eat: his attention is solely on Dean.

After a minute of nothing, Dean psychs himself up to say whatever's on his mind. That's the fairest thing he can do. No worrying about what he sounds like, since he's pretty sure it doesn't matter to Cas anyway. He doesn't know what to say. So he says that. "I, uhm-" He clears his throat and tries again. "I don't know what I'm supposed to say. It- happened. I'm not gonna sit here and pretend it didn't happen because who am I kidding, y'know? We could talk about it 'til we're blue in the face. But, uh, but..." His train of thought derails, and despite his effort to come up with something, anything, he freezes. "But" what? What does he want to say there?

Castiel attempts to finish his sentence: "But you don't want to pursue it any further."

"Yes. No, wait, I mean _yes, I-" _He clenches his hand into a tight fist and fights the instinct to smash it against something, again and again, really just punch the _crap_ out of it. Cas tilts his head; an understanding passes between them. Shit.

"You're... _afraid_ to pursue it any further."

He swallows. Licks his lips. He wishes he could say that he doesn't want it to happen again. It would make everything so much easier. He can't, though. He can't look into those apologetic blue eyes and say something so cruel, especially when he'd kinda be lying to the both of them. God **_damn_ **it. This whole thing isn't really that complicated at all. It's a single damn yes-or-no question that he's too _afraid_ to answer, because whatever choice he makes will change everything past this point. But it's not just him- Cas has to ask himself the same question, has to come to the same conclusion.

Dean takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly. It doesn't help. "What is this?" he whispers hoarsely, gesturing to Cas and himself. "I mean, what the **hell**'re we gonna do now?" Cas looks down at his untouched plate, then away into empty space.

"I wish I had an answer for you, Dean, I sincerely do."

Sam rejoins them before Dean has the chance to say _don't do that, Cas, don't put this on yourself, no one has all the answers._ He shoots Cas a look to try and relay that to him, while Sam is still getting settled, and Cas nods back. _We'll figure it out,_ Cas assures him with his eyes. Sam grins at the both of them, a gesture that can only mean _finally_; Dean smacks him on the back of the head.


	6. Misplaced

**Misplaced**

Cas felt in the way. Dean knew he did; he could see it all over the poor guy's face as he sat there on the edge of the bed, watching Sam and Dean go through their nightly routines. He had this 'little lost puppy' kind of look to him that made Dean mentally kick himself for not knowing what to say, and even if he _knew_ what to say, he's still too weirded out by the idea of saying it in front of Sam. He can barely admit things to himself, though he's been learning how over the past few years. With Cas he knows that he's totally free from judgment; but Sam is a human being, with faults and problems and a judging nature like anyone else, no matter how hard he tries otherwise. So no heart-to-hearts with Sam until Dean is comfortable enough to talk about it, and in this case, the answer to that is a big _Hell No._

Dean quickly squats down to feel around underneath one of the bedside tables. Nothing. He rises and pokes around in the closet, shifting bags and loose shirts and, generally, making a commotion that's kinda unnecessary, but he's getting more annoyed as he goes so he really doesn't give a shit. "Dammit," he mutters not-at-all quietly. Cas is staring at him.

"What are you looking for?" Dean hears behind him.

"Huh? Oh- I can't find my- _damn_ sock."

He keeps rifling through his belongings while he talks, facing away from Cas but it doesn't matter, angels have super-hearing. The sound of wings startles him for a second, then Cas appears beside him, holding out his missing black sock. It takes a few moments for Dean to register what's happening, eyes flicking back and forth between Cas and the sock. He snaps out of it and takes the damn thing. His fingers graze Cas' accidentally; he definitely didn't tense up a bit when that happened. What the hell is Sam so fucking _amused_ at over there? _Asshole._

"Uh, thanks. Where the hell'd you find it?"

Cas shuffles back to his perch on the bed. "It was lying on the floor in the restroom, behind the toilet."

"Go figure." Dean loosens up his throat with a short cough. "So Cas. What're you gonna do now?"

Sam looks up from his laptop to see Cas' reaction. _Oh no, Dean, don't ask that. Why would you ask that?_

"I thought I would just sit here quietly for a while, if that's alright with you. Why?"

Dean's face contorts, undecided, between a dozen different expressions; Sam recognizes Relief, the one that Dean would've settled on if he hadn't caught Sam looking and covered it by scratching at some imaginary itch on his cheek. Because Dean's probably about to say something idiotic, Sam speaks up first, earning Cas' attention. "Well we're going to sleep pretty soon, so, now would be the time to bail if you don't want to sit here in the dark all night. I can go down and get another room for you, if you want. Or you can- I dunno, roam around?"

"That won't be necessary, Sam," Cas responds, earnesty in his voice and on his face. "I don't mind sitting in the dark. I'll watch over you." He's looking at Dean as he says the second part; Sam's eyes flick over to Dean as well. His brother's expression is priceless.

"That's not happening."

Sam sends him a look over Cas' shoulder that says_ 'are you kidding me or did you seriously just say that to him'._ He understands that Dean is sorta out of his element here, but really? This isn't even about whether he has feelings for Cas or not-

Castiel shifts his head from Dean to Sam, to Dean again. Has he missed something? "I don't understand."

After a short pause: "Look, no offense, but don't you have, y'know, _angel stuff_ to do in Heaven? You left a pretty big mess up there."

"Dean-"

Whatever Sam was going to say, it's too late now. Castiel is on his feet. "I _can't_ return to Heaven. Not after everything I've done, not after I've slain _thousands_ of my-"

"Don't give me that. You're just afraid." Dean takes a step forward. "_Own up to what you did, Cas_."

Castiel glowers at him, half-pained and half bewildered. His throat chafes as he swallows down whatever emotion is threatening to burst out. "Why- Why are you telling me this?" he whispers.

Sam moves closer as well. "Rough way of putting it, but he's right. You can't hide from your mistakes forever, Castiel. Believe us, we know. You have to atone."

_Something's wrong._

_Something is wrong with this moment. Look. Actually observe._ Castiel swivels his head this way and that, inspecting every piece of furniture in the motel. When he raises his eyes to the light fixture, a flash of concentrated thoughts invades his consciousness.

_'Cas, you hearin' me?'_

"Listen to us, Castiel."

The voices are both Dean, but that can't be. It hurts. It's confusing. All this noise is splitting Castiel apart; he presses his hands against his ears and suddenly he can hear it better, the voice calling to him.

_'Cleaned up a poltergeist in Tuskeegee. Headed out to Akron now, about three hours west. Please answer me, man. Please. I know you're still out there Cas.'_

He draws a ragged breath. "Dean?"

"I'm right here, Castiel."

No, no, that's not right. _Right? Was that prayer real? What here is real?_ "Who are you?" he demands.

He only just realizes that Sam has snatched his wrists and pinned them behind his back. Dean leans close, a harshness in his eyes that reminds Castiel of Raphael: pure power and utter purpose. The harshness of an Angel on a mission. This image of Dean starts to glow, brighter, brighter still, and the whole room is drained of color but there was never a room in the first place was there, no, everything is made of light and wavelengths and collective-consciousness across the planes of every dimension in existence. The only thing missing at this point is a massive sign which reads_ 'Welcome to Heaven'._

A stream of focused Enochian echoes in his grace. _We all know_ that a being made of light creating sound in an imperceivable dimension made of what could best be described as anti-light, and without requiring vocal chords (as if that's the most problematic factor present right now), is _impossible_ on a level that would drive many of us to insanity, so for the sake of human comprehension, let's pretend that Heaven is an _actual_ physical place, filled with _somewhat_ physical beings, and that a translation for Enochian exists and can be expressed in perfect English:

**"What did you do?"**

** "I increased the dosage, as you instructed-"**

**"Obviously not! Castiel is becoming aware!"**

** "Should I purge his memory of this encounter?"**

**"No, you have done enough. Leave. I wish to speak with him."**

As he listens, Castiel rouses slowly from his comatose state, to find that he is firmly secured and cannot move.

**"Wh- What is happening? What did you do to me?"**

A figure appears in his field of view.

**"Welcome back, Castiel. Unfortunately for you, it has not yet been long enough."**

* * *

And with this, I'm going on another hiatus so I can get the next installment of parts ready! I don't know how long I'll need, but it'll probably be at least a month or two like the last hiatus. Please let me know what you think about the progression of events- and don't worry! Everything will be explained soon *evil cackle*


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